


Fantasma

by orionsspectre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Mcsombra, Rarepair, boy howdy are these two so darn cute, but did you think it was gonna be all cute?, honestly these two are probably my otp, it'll be angsty too, mark my darn words, no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionsspectre/pseuds/orionsspectre
Summary: Sombra has been lucky at the times it mattered most. She was lucky when Overwatch ran a sting operation on Los Muertos, she was lucky when a dorky looking (albeit cute) cowboy decided to spare her life, and she was lucky that almost a decade later that very same cowboy was there to save her from her own organization's people.Now she's lucky he hasn't recognized her from all those years ago and he doesn't have a clue who she works for. And unbeknownst to the cowboy, she's found him very interesting and can't resist meddling in his vigilante affairs.





	1. Train Ride to Nowhere

Exhaustion was creeping into her muscles. 

She’d been running for awhile; her feet were sore and her chest burned from the exertion, but she new she couldn’t stop. Stopping would mean those pursuing could catch up, and them catching up would mean she died. 

She still felt she was a bit too young to die at the tender age of 21, and these Blackwatch goons didn’t seem to be in the mood to take prisoners. 

She took a back turn down an alley, Dorado filled with little alleys and passages that made evasion easy, and she took a dive behind a food stand that had closed down for the evening.

She could hear her blood rushing in her ears, and she gripped her minigun tightly to her chest, begging her body to calm down.

How did this job go so wrong? 

Los Muertos had _promised_ her that she would have cover. They _swore_ that she had backup. 

And she did, for a time, as she broke into the Overwatch safehouse they’d learned was keeping tabs on them in their own territory and of course the bosses couldn’t have that. She told Miguel several times that Overwatch was too big of a fish, but did he listen?

No. 

And now she was going to pay for it with her damned life. 

She could hear footsteps, running down the alleyway and she covered her mouth with her left hand, hoping it kept her breath quiet. 

Her finger caressed the trigger on her gun, and she thought bitterly to herself of all the ways she would haunt Los Muertos from her early and shallow grave, but _dios_ she would not go down without a fight. 

The footsteps ran past her booth, and she could see what appeared to be _cowboy boots_ , spurs and all. 

The boots and their owner left the alley, and she waited a few moments before quietly snaking her way out from under booth and darting the opposite direction. 

She peered into the city’s square, about to take her first step when she felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her neck.

“Hands up, miss.”

She held her hands up, her finger out of her trigger well, and her chest heaving. 

Damn Miguel straight to hell.

“Now why don’t you turn around nice and slow, and drop that magazine?” 

He was an American, at least his accent told her he was. He sounded like he was one of those old timey ranchers or farmers that she’d see in the “Old-Western” movies her abuelo used to show her. 

She obeyed, turning slowly and dropping her magazine, hearing the metal _clank_ on the ground. The barrel didn’t leave her skin as she turned and her spine shivered. She faced him, and met his eyes. 

He was wearing a _cowboy hat_ too. 

“Seriously?” she scoffed, unable to help herself. 

He was handsome, no doubt about it. He had a broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin and facial scruff that could make any girl swoon, but that _cowboy hat_ and, oh dios, those _cowboy boots_ were one hell of a distraction.

“You’re not in the position to be pokin’ fun at anyone, little lady.” he said, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smile. 

Well shit. He had a nice smile too. Boyish and mischievous, and it didn’t at all match his revolver that was currently aimed at her forehead.

“So how does this work? I beg for my life? You make me dig my own grave? I get on my knees and suck you off and you decide to keep me around?” she asked, grateful her Los Muertos face paint hid how terrified she knew she looked. 

He looked disgusted at her suggestions, taking the minigun from her hand and tossing it to the clear other end of the alley. 

“I give off that kinda vibe? I’ll have to work on that.” he said, shaking his head. 

He paused for a moment, tilting his head as though he were listening to something, someone she figured, and eyed her over. 

“You high up?” he asked. 

She laughed almost bitterly, women weren’t “high-up” in Los Muertos, they didn’t rank much higher in their eyes than Omnics, despite how smart or capable they were. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” he said, slowly lowering the revolver. 

She eyed him curiously, taking a step back. He didn’t move, just shook his head as though he were a little disappointed. 

“Don’t make the same mistakes I did, kid. Get out of this life, and get out of here before I stop taking pity on you.” he said, holstering his weapon. She wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth and she bolted across the square, leaving the vaquero in the alley. 

 

_**Nine Years Later** _

Sombra was grateful that of all the Talon agents there were, she was one of the ones that looked the most “normal.” Sure, she had obvious cybernetics decorating her body, but she didn’t look starved of oxygen and she didn’t turn into an actual _ghost_. And that decision to look normal meant she could do fun things; like ride on the hypertrain to Houston for a well-earned (in her eyes) vacation. 

“May I see your ticket please?” 

A man in a bow tie and vest stood next to her seat, a friendly smile on his face. She gave him a sweet smile, handing her holodisc over for him to validate her ticket and move on. She was pulling out the stops on this vacation; she even bought her ticket instead of hacked herself into one. 

The dining car was full; servers were bouncing from table to table with drinks on hand, and the chatter amongst the passengers was relaxed. She gazed out the window; the United States southwest and its breathtaking landscape laid out before her. 

She took a sip of her coffee, admiring the mesas, the cacti, the Talon stealth chopper, the clear skies-

She set her coffee down, her head abruptly turning to check her vision once more.

That was indeed a Talon stealth chopper, and it was coming in hot.   
She slid her hand under the table, her fingers already memorized their sequence to immediately hack into Reaper’s comms unit.

_”What do you want?”_

His voice cracked to life in her ear, his annoyance clear. 

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, watching as ropes slid out of the chopper, with armed troops slipping down them, guns pointed directly at the dining car. 

_”Not that I’m aware of. What is this about?”_ he hissed, though to be fair everything he said sounded like a hiss.

“Then why are our people about to light up the train I’m on?” she said, taking a dive to the floor just in time for a hailstorm of bullets to shatter the glass of the dining car and send passengers screaming. 

_”Sombra? Come in._ Reaper said, his voice barely audible above the sound of bullets. 

“Call them off, Gabe!” she hissed, crawling along the center aisle of the dining car. 

The comms line went dead, and she hoped that meant he was about to give someone a very stern talking to, but for now it didn’t matter. Glass shattered and Talon troopers swung into the car, rifles pointed directly at the train’s passengers, including her. 

It was now that she wished she didn’t look quite as normal or have her appearance in general quite as unknown to the lower ranks of Talon. With the exception of Talon’s most important players, “Sombra” was only a name to these grunts. 

This could possibly be one of the stupidest ways to die. 

“Get up.” the trooper barked, the muzzle digging right into her neck. If she did make it out of this one alive, she’d see to it that _this_ stupid grunt in particular was punished. 

She did as she was told, slowly rising to her feet with anger and defiance clearly written across her face. 

“All of you, in your seats, now!” he barked, shoving her back into her booth with the butt of his rifle. She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her as she crashed into her seat, the cushions wet with spilled coffee. 

This grunt was going to die. She would see to it personally.  
The passengers did as they were told, some whimpering and crying out. Kids clung to their parents, and that only sparked more anger in Sombra. Not knowing she was here and treating hostages like this was _unacceptable_. 

She knew her anger was displayed on her face; a trooper stalked towards her with his rifle pointed squarely towards the center of her chest. She steadied her left hand, fingers moving in a way that would make bystanders think it was nerves, much to her advantage. 

But before he could pull the trigger, and more importantly, before she could hack his armor and leave him immobile, shots rang out in the train car, and the trooper hit the ground dead.

The one that smacked her with his rifle turned away for a split second to investigate the gunfire, and she took that as her opportunity to strike. Her fingers danced in the air, purple holo light on her fingertips and he stood frozen in place, dropping his weapon.

She picked it up and fired a single shot through the trooper’s helmet and released the hack on him.

He crumpled to the ground, a satisfying hole in his head and she stepped over his body towards the other dead trooper. 

“Nice shootin’.”

She froze in her tracks, hearing the thud of boots behind her and a tall presence standing over her. 

She knew that voice. 

She turned, knowing her eyes were wide as she met a _very_ familiar pair of brown eyes. 

And the bastard still wore a _cowboy hat_.

He looked at her quizzically, then gave her a smile, no longer boyish due to his beard but most definitely still mischievous. The moment was ruined; before she could say anything he had her pinned under him on the floor on the car and he was firing at Talon troopers that had burst through the car door. 

She couldn’t see the troopers, but she could hear their bodies hit the ground. It was quiet for a moment before the vaquero got up, unpinning her from the floor. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. I didn’t want you to get hit.” he said, holding a gloved hand out for her. She took it, her eyes narrowed on him. 

“You alright?” he asked, pulling her back on her feet. 

It was still the same man; that Blackwatch agent from almost a decade ago, but he had certainly changed. He had a full beard, and no longer wore all black. A bright red serape covered his shoulders, and she saw a glint of silver under it before he brought that silver glint to rub the back of his neck.

He’d lost an arm.

“I’m fine. Is this some sort of train robbery?” she asked, eyeing the cowboy hat. 

He gave a small smile and shook his head. 

“No, but if you don’t mind Miss…?”

“Maria.”

“Alright, Miss. Maria, I would greatly appreciate your fine trigger skills in clearing the rest of this train.” 

She blinked in surprise; he didn’t remember her? 

Part of her wanted to be offended, wasn’t she striking enough to be remembered? But the rational part of her was relieved. That night was almost ten years ago, and she had been wearing her full face of Los Muertos makeup. She’d be surprised if he _did_ remember some young punk waving a minigun around.

But help him dispatch Talon?

That was tricky, and she knew if she refused he may know that something wasn’t quite right with her.

“Yeah… I can do that vaquero.” she said, picking up a few extra magazines from one of the trooper’s utility belt. 

He looked pleased, and he reloaded his revolver, motioning for her to follow him. 

They made their way towards the rear of the train, running past cowering train staff and passengers. A few troopers were littered among the cars, and the vaquero wasn’t shy about putting lead in them.   
She had a feeling that soft, boyish man that let her go all those years ago wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her if he found out exactly who she was. 

It was when they were about to enter the last train car that she caught the sound of whimpering through the metal door. The vaquero heard it too, holding up a hand and motioning her to be quiet.

_”No shit.”_ she wanted to say, but she thought better of it. No need to make a decidedly bad situation worse. 

“What are the codes?!”

She could hear someone shouting, a trooper no doubt, and she could hear the whimpering of a man on the other side. 

“I don’t know, I swear!” the man cried.

“Then you’re useless to me.”

The vaquero slammed his boot into the door of the train car, forcing it open and using his prosthetic hand to rapidly pull back the hammer on his revolver, landing six bullets in the trooper’s torso.

The whimpering employee burst into tears, no doubt grateful that the vaquero had dashed in, just like in those old cowboy movies, to save him. 

_”Sombra, do you copy?”_

Reaper’s timing was impeccable. The vaquero turned to her to give his thanks, and she gave a smile, untying the train employee who quickly scrambled away from the car and carnage of what used to be a Talon trooper. 

“You helped out quite a bit, Miss. Maria.” the vaquero said. 

She knew Reaper had to be listening. She hoped he got the hint to be quiet. “Maria” was only used if Sombra was at a high risk of being compromised, and the risk in the situation couldn’t get much higher. 

“No problema vaquero. Do I get a name for my hero before he rides off into the sunset?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. 

The vaquero chuckled, a slight flush on his cheeks. 

“Jesse. You can call me Jesse.”

She could have sworn she heard Reaper hiss, and she’d be sure to ask him plenty of questions later, but for now she gave Jesse a smile. 

_”I got them called off. They’re pulling out now.”_ Reaper growled.

She knew she’d have to answer to killing a few of their men later, though she was sure Reaper of all people would understand. He knew she couldn’t risk compromising her cover, and he himself was a man of vengeance. Of all people, he would get it.

“I gotta run, Miss. Maria. I’m probably gonna get blamed for this one and need to beat the cops when we pull in to Houston.” Jesse said, looking out the window at the quickly approaching city.   
She thought for a moment before dancing her fingers in the air once more, pulling up holographic projections of the train’s security cameras. With a few taps, the camera screens went dark, and error messages replaced the screens. 

He narrowed his eyes and she shrugged.

“Consider it repayment for saving my life.” 

_Or sparing it that one time._

He tilted his hat towards her, in acknowledgement and thanks she assumed, before making his way between train cars to disappear into the southwestern countryside. 

The world seemed to go quiet to Sombra. 

The train pulled up to the station and police raided the train, searching for any surviving assailants. Sombra cooperated with the search, allowing herself to be pat down by security and allowing herself to be questioned. 

She hardly paid any attention to the police, and she made a point to vanish quickly from the station to find her hotel and prepare for the riot act to be read to her from Reaper, in which she knew he would ultimately forgive her. 

She thought of the vaquero, of Jesse, and a smile was brought to her face.

She had a new obsession.


	2. The Lauderdale Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't do anything stupid," is a phrase Sombra hears a lot, often when she's about to do something that she knows is questionable. Reaper is made aware of Sombra's fascination with the cowboy that saved her on the train, and advises his comrade not to be stupid when it comes to him. Never one to listen, Sombra tracks the cowboy down the American east coast to sunny Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
> 
> McCree picks up a mercenary job in Florida to help a local community deal with a gang problem that's gotten kids hurt. While he expected sun and surf, he wasn't expecting the cyber-enhanced beauty to be there as well. Remembering her as the former punk he spared from Los Muertos all those years ago, he's surprised by her offer to help him get rid of the gang members. Suspicions rise though, because while she says she's not with Los Muertos anymore, she doesn't say who she's working for now, and all McCree knows is that this little firecracker doesn't like it when kids get caught in the crossfire.

Months had passed, missions completed, business as usual.

Sombra had made it a habit to skip mission debriefings, electing instead to “go dark” on comms and spend hours researching her favorite cowboy. 

Jesse McCree. Former Blackwatch agent and before that former member of the Deadlock Gang. That explained Reaper’s distaste for the cowboy; he knew him personally. One of the Overwatch agents he no doubt wanted dead.

All of that was McCree in the past, present-McCree was a bit of a bad boy.

It looked like vigilante justice to Sombra; he went around the law to dispatch gangsters and those that thought they were above the law, and when he wasn’t doing that he was a gun for hire, yet he was picky with the jobs he took.

Always the hero riding off into the sunset it would seem.

On this rare night of research, Sombra was actually at a Talon safehouse on the coast of North Carolina with Reaper and Widowmaker, and she’d excused herself to her bedroom for the evening. 

She had once again ignored the mission debriefing (much to Reaper’s annoyance) and curled herself under her covers to dive in to old Overwatch databases once more. Tales of grand missions that saved the world during the Omnic Crisis, and of course, the fall. 

“I’m coming in.”

Reaper never asked for permission to enter a room, but at least with his teammates he announced his presence, mostly due to the first time he walked into Sombra’s room unannounced and caught her with her shirt off.

She didn’t bother hiding her screens and data, and she could have sworn she felt the room go cold when he entered the room and laid eyes on a young Jesse McCree, donning his Blackwatch uniform.

“What are you doing?” he growled, stalking towards her bed.

“Research. He’s interesting.” she said, a coy smile on her face. 

Though he wore a mask, she knew he was glaring at her, and she gave an innocent smile, patting the spot next to her on her bed as an invitation for Reaper to sit down. 

He wouldn’t, he never did, and Sombra continued on reading the stolen files. 

“What do you want with him?” Reaper asked, his arms crossed as though he were scolding a child. 

She was quiet for a moment, contemplative even, and she pulled up an old Blackwatch file titled “Operation Muerto.” That night in Dorado all those years ago had been archived, and she began scanning through the files, searching for the statements McCree had written.

“He never mentioned finding me and letting me go.” she finally said. 

If Reaper was surprised she was there he didn’t show it. 

“I met him before. In Dorado. I was actually the one that managed to get into the safehouse, break down all of that security. He found me when I was trying to get away and had every opportunity to kill me but he didn’t. I wanted to know why.” she said. She pulled up the “lost” hypertrain security footage, replaying the camera that caught McCree throwing her on the ground to protect her while he shot two Talon troopers. 

“I take it you weren’t compromised?” Reaper asked. 

She shook her head no, but had the clip of him “saving her” playing on rewind. 

The two were silent for what felt like an eternity before Reaper turned on his heels and walked out the door. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.” he warned before the door behind him.

She curled back into bed, pulling up a separate screen, a project she’d been working on.

She was tracking him. 

She had his movements mapped as he went from city to city, thanks to his wanted posters and the various reports of mercenary activity that sprang up. It looked like he started out in New York City on this recent mercenary run, and had begun making his way down the eastern coast of the United States over the past few weeks.

She scoured the Ghostnet, a private network where less than legal employers may be looking for less than legal employees. 

She scanned the ads, shaking her head and getting increasingly frustrated at the jobs she _knew_ her vaquero wouldn’t take. 

_Assassinate an Atlanta pastor?  
No._

_Kidnap the Mayor of Raleigh’s young daughter?_

_No._

_Stop a local gang from terrorizing a Fort Lauderdale community?_

She smiled to herself, reading the details of the ad. A local gang was causing havoc for a Fort Lauderdale neighborhood, and because the police had been paid off so the gang could do drug smuggling operations, the community was helpless. Everything about it called out to the “cowboy saves the day” troupe, and she felt a surge of excitement run through her. 

She packed a bag with her essentials; civilian clothes, her tech, her gun, and she headed towards the front door of the safehouse. 

Widowmaker was reading in an armchair while Reaper was cleaning one of his shotguns. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, motioning to the bag. 

“On a little road trip. I’ll see you soon.” Sombra said, walking right out the door. She didn’t figure this job would be a quick one, and she was alright with that. 

She was wanting a little Florida sun anyway. 

 

The job was easy enough. Go in, rough up, or dispose if need be, a small time gang that was bothering one of the Fort Lauderdale neighborhoods. 

“They’re using a few of the houses to run their operations out of. They just kicked out the people that owned them onto the streets, and they’re so violent! They’ve had shootouts in broad daylight in front of the elementary school!”

McCree sat at a little cafe by one of the many beaches Fort Lauderdale was famous for with the principal of the local high school. Mark Borain had posted the ad after a few kids ended up getting hurt in the gunfight outside the school.

None of them were killed, but hurting little kids didn’t sit right with McCree, and he wasn’t one to stand around when there was injustice in the world. 

“You know who’s in charge?” McCree asked, flicking the ash off his cigar onto the pavement.   
The seagulls soared above the cafe, some brave enough to dive down to the beach goers in an attempt to swipe food. The skies were blue and clear, and the Atlantic ocean looked inviting. School had just gotten out for the year, and if it weren’t for a bunch of lowlife thugs, McCree wouldn’t have minded laying out in the sun. 

“I know that the loud one that the others follow is named Michael. He’s got slicked back black hair and wears a skull necklace, but I don’t know if he’s that one that’s really in charge.” Mark said, his grip on his mug so tight that McCree thought he might break the ceramic.

He took a drag off his cigar before extending his hand out to the man.

“You got yerself a deal.”

Mark’s eyes widened and he grabbed McCree’s hand with both of his and shook it fervently. 

“Thank you! You have no idea how much this means! I’ll go tell the faculty and we’ll be ready to help with whatever you need!” Mark said, springing from his chair. He practically ran off, an almost comical sight if McCree was being honest with himself, but he felt satisfied with himself for a moment. 

He turned his attention back to the beach. Families were playing in the surf, people were running or walking their dogs. Omnics enjoying the sun and surf too.

It was peaceful. He envied them.

He took a drink of his coffee, much too fru-fru for his tastes, when he saw a new face arrive on the beach.

Her skin was was tanned and she was showing off a lot of it. 

She wore a black bikini that didn’t leave too much to his imagination and black sunglasses on her face. The half of her hair that wasn’t shaved and outfitted with cybernetics blew around her in the sea breeze, and when she turned her back to him to lay out a towel on the beach he could see that she had cybernetic implants down her spine. 

Her looks were stunning, but something else was quite noticeable about her.

It was that hot-headed woman with a damn good trigger finger from the hypertrain all those months back. 

 

She stretched her hands up in the air before laying on her towel, her looks distracting more than just him. Other beach goers were staring at this beauty, and he didn’t blame them one bit.

He stood, leaving some cash on the cafe table before making his way to the beach and towards the laid out woman. He stopped when he stood at her side, his silhouette casting her in a shadow.

“You’re blocking my sun.” she said.

He didn’t know if her eyes were even open through those dark sunglasses, but he that didn’t stop him from smiling.

“Didn’t mean to, miss. Just thought I saw a familiar face.”

She tilted her head before sitting up, her neck craned to see him. She paused for a moment, then she cracked a smile.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again, vaquero.” 

He sat next to her, pulling his baseball hat down over his eyes. Cowboy boots and his favorite hat decidedly did not match the Fort Lauderdale day attire, so he’d opted for swim trunks, flip flops and a loose t-shirt instead. 

“I ain’t much of a vaquero right now, am I?” he asked, taking a drag off his cigar. She shrugged, laying back on her towel. 

“You’re not wearing the clothes right now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you kept them close by.”

She was right. His hat and boots were in his dingy hotel room. Peacekeeper, however, was in a holster on the small of his back. 

“So, Miss. Maria… You followin’ me?” he asked, his eyes of the waves as the tide rolled in.  
“No. Just on vacation.” she said.

He didn’t know for certain, he never did, but he had a hunch that wasn’t the case. And historically speaking, his hunches were almost always right. 

“I don’t think I believe you.” he said, leaning back on one arm and taking another drag. 

“Seriously?”  
 _”Seriously?”_

The way she scoffed was a cross between mocking him and disbelief, and that attitude of hers was real familiar with him. He placed his prosthetic hand on her wrist and she turned to him, tilting her sunglasses down so he could see her violet eyes. 

“You’re not really in the position to be pokin’ fun at anyone, little lady.”

A smile grew on her face and he saw white teeth behind those plump lips. That little Los Muertos punk he’d let go a lifetime ago wasn’t just a dumb girl anymore, and behind all that skull makeup she was mighty pretty.

“So be straight with me. You followin’ me?” he asked again, his grip on her wrist firm. 

“Maybe. Maybe I thought my vaquero was interesting? He did ride off into the sunset and all, even leaving the girl behind.” she said with a grin. He considered for a moment before letting her wrist go. 

“You the reason the locals are havin’ a gang problem?” he asked.

“No. I’m not with Los Muertos anymore. I haven’t been for years.” she said, putting her sunglasses back over her eyes. 

“Then what do you do?”

“I work in IT.”

He gave her a look that screamed he didn’t believe her, but she just shrugged. 

“I work in IT, and we’ll just leave it at that. I’m not gonna hurt you, McCree.”

She knew his name and his location. He made a mental note to check his gear for any bugs she may have planted all those months ago on the trian. For all he knew she had managed to implant something in the adrenaline of a gun fight.

“Well then… I take it Maria isn’t your real name?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Who do you do IT for?”

She was quiet for a moment before turning onto her back, holdng a bottle of sunscreen out to him.   
“Care to help a girl out, vaquero?” 

He took the bottle, knowing she was avoiding the question. But he’d play her game for now he decided, putting some of the sunscreen on his hands and rubbing her shoulders with it. This was odd. He was never one to get in the habit of rubbing sunscreen along the back of a former gangster.

It was when she let out a little moan when his hands were on her lower back that gave him a pause. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, turning her head to look at him with a wicked smirk on her face. 

“Nothin’.” he mumbled, grateful her dark sunglasses hid the heat creeping up his face from her. He finished rubbing the sunscreen in and turned to face the ocean once more. 

“What’s this gang doing that made them call in a cowboy to deal with it?” she asked, stretching her legs out behind her. She arched her back, her cybernetics bending with her spine before returning back to her lazing on the beach.

“Lots of stuff.”

“Like what?” 

“Had a shoot out outside of a elementary school. Some kids got hit.”

She went silent, turning towards him and taking her sunglasses off. He could see that sparked something in her, because those bright purple eyes looked mad as hell. 

“Anyone killed?” she asked.

He shook his head no, and that seemed to give her a sense of relief. But then he saw that anger come back, and he decided for himself that little miss “Maria” may not be that bad afterall.

“You needing some help?”

That, however, surprised him. He wasn’t expecting help from her a second time around. 

“What’re you offering to do? I don’t reckon you could hack ‘em like those Talon fucks.” he said, giving her a smile. A grin erupted on her face, and paired with that anger in her eyes he himself was a bit intimidated by her. 

“Everything can be hacked, McCree. And everyone.”


	3. It's Just Karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree agrees to let the mysterious woman work with him on the Fort Lauderdale job, and is treated with a sense of routine with her. Still elusive as ever when it comes to who her own employer is, he is treated with some small inkling of who the woman actually is. "Sombra," either a member of the infamous hacking organization or perhaps the organization is just one person. Either way, she's agreed to help him infiltrate and take out this gang that's causing trouble.
> 
> But plans are never that simple for McCree. When a simple job goes wrong, he's left to trust Sombra as his past catches up to haunt him, and by trusting her things get complicated. How can he trust a shadow that he doesn't know?

On many levels she knew this was all a very bad idea. 

She didn’t lie to McCree, not necessarily, but she knew that if she wasn’t careful he would find out the she worked for _those Talon fucks_ and wouldn’t hesitate pulling that revolver on her.

Again. 

But she was a softie when it came to kids and couldn’t sit by while some small time gang ran around shooting up kindergarteners. That didn’t bode well with Sombra at all and she knew she couldn’t stand by and do _nothing_.

McCree welcomed her help after a bit of convincing, her promise of a clean getaway and not a trace left behind, like on the train, selling him on the idea of letting her tag along. And when he asked why she was helping him, she told him the truth.

_”Kids haven’t done anything to deserve getting shot at.”_

That answer seemed satisfying enough to him, and he welcomed the help a second pair of hands would bring. 

They made a routine; over the course of a week they met at different cafes or on the beach to discuss plans. When he asked her how she was going to sneak in to the gang’s hideout, she gave him a smile that spelled trouble.

_”Let me worry about the sneaking, vaquero.”_

She never gave him much insight to her methods, every meeting they had she had new intelligence on the group. What was planned to be a simple run in and shoot ‘em up became more complicated when she revealed they weren’t just packing pistols; they were packing the heavy stuff. 

“How’d you get this info?” McCree asked, one evening on the beach. She had her screens up and surrounding her, with images of the gang members unloading RPGs and Javelins from the back of a pickup truck.

“I have my ways, vaquero. But this will make our in and out a bit more difficult.” she said, a frown on her face. 

He studied her for a moment, surprised at her uncharacteristic seriousness but also bothered by her. He didn’t know her real name. He didn’t know if she was working with someone that wanted him dead and this was a long con. He didn’t know how she got these pictures.

He didn’t know her. 

“You gonna tell me your name anytime soon?” he asked, his eyes not leaving her face. 

She gave him a quick glance out of the corner of her eyes, but turned her attention back to the screen. 

“You can call me Sombra.” she said, her fingers dancing in the air, pulling up what appeared to be emails between higher up gang members. That name however struck a chord with him.

“Like that hacker organization? You one of them?” he asked, laying back on his beach towel while she worked. 

“Maybe. Maybe I just _am_ them.” she said, a smirk on her face. 

The beach was quiet at this hour. The sun had begun to set and it cast a hue of colors on the waves and her skin. McCree wanted to stop and enjoy the view, drink it in, but he knew not to mix business and pleasure. 

“Then you’re a very dangerous lady, but Sombra isn’t a proper name.” he said, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look at the woman next to him. He was tired of code names. Tired of secrets. Sometimes he downright hated himself for all the secrets he had to keep himself. 

She was quiet for awhile, and he wondered if she managed to sneak off in that way she managed to until he felt a sudden weight on his chest. He opened his eyes to find her leaning on her arms on his chest, her violet eyes locked with his own in an unreadable gaze. 

His eyes grew wide and he didn’t move, part of him scared of spooking her like she was some sort of wild animal.

“I don’t have a real name anymore, McCree. I’m just Sombra.” she said, poking him in the nose. She stayed there, and to any other beach goer he was sure this would just look like a loving couple enjoying an evening on the beach. He didn’t know how to feel about this though, but he decided he didn’t particularly mind.

“Who do you work for, darlin’?” he asked, instinctively pushing her hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes and pulled away, not answering him. She didn’t need to. Apparently that was a line he kept crossing.

“We should make a move on those idiotas soon, McCree. Spending this much time together is going to get us into dangerous territory.” she said. He understood. Whoever she worked for probably (at least he hoped) didn’t know she was with him, and if they did… then she’d dropped more than enough hints that whoever she worked for was not going to be a fan of him. 

“We move tomorrow night, darlin’.”

 

“I’ve got three on your six, take a right at the next hallway and head up the stairs. You’re almost there.”

Sombra’s voice was the only thing guiding him in the house that ended up being more of a mansion. The guards inside hadn’t yet noticed their missing gate guards, and McCree stood in awe of how Sombra had managed to dispatch them so quickly and so silently. He didn’t have too much time to appreciate it however, because the gate had slid open just enough for the duo to squeeze through, and when he turned to thank her, she was gone. 

“What’s up ahead, Sombra?” he asked, Peacekeeper drawn and ready. 

But there was no answer on her end. The comms were dead. 

He muttered a curse to himself and headed up the stairs, clearing the corners of the hallway and dodging past rooms. His hunch was hitting him once more.

Something wasn’t right about this. 

“McCree?”

Sombra’s voice crackled over his earpiece but it was only a whisper.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” he asked, peering in one of the bedrooms. The room was completely empty; no furniture, no evidence of human inhabitants. There was nothing here. Something was very wrong. 

“You gotta get out of here. This isn’t right.” her voice was barely above a whisper, and McCree wasn’t liking how quiet everything was.

“ _We_ gotta get outta here. Where are you? Give me directions to get to you.” he said, heading back downstairs. The house had gone silent, and through the back doors in the kitchen he could see a faint orange glow. 

“I’m in the backyard. Be careful. This is a bad job. You were lured here.” 

He felt his stomach clench, and he quietly made his way to the back door, silently sliding it open and slipping out. He looked around the backyard for a moment before feeling something grab his arm and pull him to the ground behind a pile of lumbar. 

His revolver was pressed to Sombra’s temple, but when he recognized her he immediately lowered his weapon. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, seeing the panic in Sombra’s eyes. She didn’t say anything, just pointed to the center of the backyard where the faint glow was emanating from. The school principal was wearing very different clothing; his button down shirt and slacks were replaced with black chaps and a leather vest. The tattoo on his forearm was telling.

This man was Deadlock.

On some level, McCree knew Deadlock would eventually catch up with him. He was safe when he was in Overwatch; the comradery he had with his friends then had been more than enough to ward off any attacks from them for all those years.

But that protection went away eight years ago when he left and Overwatch collapsed, and Deadlock didn’t have a habit of forgetting traitors and deserters. 

“We need to find a way out.” he whispered, scanning the backyard for an exit. 

The privacy fence was ten yards away, and if they were careful and could distract them then he and Sombra could easily scale it and make a getaway. 

Sombra’s fingers tapped the air, and he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

“Do you trust me?” she whispered, her eyes staring at the fake principal. 

“As much as I can… what do you need?” he asked, his eyes on her. 

“I’ll distract them, you run to that address. Don’t turn back, vaquero. Just run.” she said. Before he could protest Sombra waved her fingers and vanished before his eyes and he was alone behind the lumbar. That’s when the chaos started. 

Shots rang out of thin air at the man, and more Deadlock members could be heard scrambling towards the sound of gunfire. 

He hesitated for a moment, cursing to himself once more while more members swarmed the yard, guns blazing at nothing. He had to trust her. He was outgunned. 

He threw a flash grenade, hoping it would confuse a few of them and give her the time to escape before he darted for the fence, vaulting over it and down the quiet suburban street. He kept running, only hoping that Sombra would catch up.

 

She was angry.

Angry at herself for not catching an obvious trap, angry that she had gotten shot and was forced to limp her way back to her hotel, and angry at herself for wanting to help the stupid cowboy. 

She limped her way into the hotel lobby, the doorman clearly shocked at her haggard appearance. 

Her stealth suit was torn in a few places, and the obvious bleeding from her thigh was something to be alarmed of. She tossed the man cash, a harsh glare saying all that her mouth did not.

“Keep your mouth shut.” 

She got in the elevator, riding up to the penthouse floor and scanning her keycard over the sensor, the elevator granting her access to the private floor. When the doors opened she saw McCree pacing back and forth in front of the door to the penthouse suite.

He turned to her, seeing her limping form emerge from the elevator and before she could protest he had her in his arms, swiping the keycard from her hand. 

“Put me down, vaquero.” she hissed, more out of pain than annoyance. 

“Shut up.” he softly said, opening the door to her room. 

He carried her inside to the bathroom, setting her down in the large jacuzzi tub and pulling out a hunting knife that had been tucked away in his boot. He cut away her leggings, exposing the hole that the bullet had left behind.

“You’re damned lucky that missed your femoral.” he tsked, helping her peel away the rest of her stealth suit, leaving her in a sports bra and panties.

“I’ve got some first aid stuff in my bad.” she said, her fingers gripping the side of the tub. She hurt. She was in pain. She wanted to scream or throw up or pass out all at once. McCree could see that and it prompted him to leap to the bedroom where her bag was to grab a little satchel with a plain red cross on it.   
He popped open the bag and looked inside, surprise washing over him. 

“Did you find it?” she asked, breathing hard. 

He walked back in, his expression stony as he handed her a syringe filled with golden liquid. She took it, popping the cap off the needle and jamming it into her bare thigh, forcing herself to squeeze the plunger and make the serum inter her body to do its work.

“Sombra… where did you get that serum?”

His voice was flat, almost monotonous, and his brown eyes stayed fixed on her leg wound as he watched it close. 

“Does it matter? It’s working, so that’s all I care about.” she said, feeling some of the pain subside. His eyes met hers, and she could see a cold fury in them. 

“There are only two organizations I know of that use serum like this. One of them collapsed, and the other is a terrorist organization that’s responsible for the deaths of innocent people. For the love of any God that may be out there, please tell me you used to be an agent of the collapsed one.” he said, his voice controlled as though he was trying to reel in anger. 

Her eyes went wide. She didn’t expect this. She didn’t expect an innocuous first aid kit to be what ruined all of this for her. She should have lied. She should have looked him right in his eyes and told him that she used to work as an informant for Overwatch, or that she’d found these first aid kits at the safehouse in Dorado all those years ago. She should have lied to his face. 

But she couldn’t. 

“McCree, I can explain-” she started, being cut off by the cowboy storming into the bedroom. 

She shakily got to her feet using her arms as leverage to lift herself out of the tub to hobble towards the bedroom where the cowboy was pacing once more. Peacekeeper was still holstered, so at least she had that going for her. 

“They’re _Talon,_ Sombra! Murderers! How could you be alright runnin’ with them?!” he demanded, storming towards her. She flinched, surprised by his sudden closeness. She felt herself wobble, her leg still numb from the serum doing its work, and she grabbed onto his arms to keep her balance. 

For a second, she thought she saw his eyes soften, but then that anger was back, and he had her backed into a wall. Nowhere to run. Not this time.   
But apart of her was just as angry as him.

“You don’t know me, McCree! You know nothing about me!” she hissed, her nails digging into his arm. She felt weak and lightheaded, but she had to stand her ground. He was just a cowboy. He had no right to assume anything about her.

“But I _want_ to know you! Do you know how hard that is when I know you work for actual evil incarnate?!” he yelled, the brim of his hat bumping her forehead. 

“They’re just a means to an end! I don't care about them!” she screamed. 

He was quiet, anger still written on his face, but at least he was listening. 

She was breathing hard, the nausea starting to set in from the exertion it took to scream at him and hold herself up. But he didn’t make her let go of him. He kept holding her upright and at the moment she needed that stability.

“Overwatch was _gone_ and I needed answers. Talon was the only thing left that had the resources. I’m not there for them or what they want, I’m there for what I need.” she gasped, her knees buckling beneath her. He caught her, much to her surprise, and sank to the ground with her. He knelt in front of her, his brown eyes scanning her. 

Overwatch had vanished, and with it he wondered how many people had turned to Talon for what they needed, 

“Have you killed anyone innocent?” he asked, his voice cold. 

“No. Not to my knowledge. I mainly hack, and I try and make things work in my favor so I can get what I need.” she whispered. 

He lifted her once more in his arms to put her in the large bed. 

“What do you need that you would risk everything, Sombra?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to look at her. She didn’t know why it hurt, if she were honest the fact that it did hurt was confusing and something she could only hope to address later. 

“I need the truth, McCree. That’s all I’ve needed.” 

She wasn’t able to stay awake; exhaustion had finally washed over her and she fell unconscious. McCree didn’t know what to do with her. By all rights, he _should_ kill her and cover his tracks. She could be here to kill _him_ after all, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to put Peacekeeper against her head and kill her. 

He threw the blanket over her before stepping onto her balcony, lighting a cigar and taking a drag. The stars were out, and in a few short hours the first rays of dawn would be peaking out over the ocean. He looked back at the woman, the hacker, the Talon agent, and shook his head.

“You’re a damned fool, Jesse McCree.” he muttered to himself, breathing the smoke out into the night.


	4. Just like the Old Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months since McCree left her alone in Florida, Sombra has not been acting alright. Stuck in a bit of a depression that she herself can't quite understand, Sombra gets a "pep talk" from one of her teammates, as well as a warning. Above all else, she has a job to do, and can't allow herself to get distracted. 
> 
> McCree finally caves. He returns to Overwatch, and a small part of him feels as though he's returned home. After reuniting with some familiar faces and long lost friends, he puts his focus on a new goal: stopping Talon and finding Sombra. After a breakthrough in information thanks to an old friend, McCree is given a new mission that will hopefully lead him to the hacker, but nothing is ever that easy. It looks like Talon is targeting something close to home for the recalled Overwatch, and McCree has to find Talon before someone he cares for gets hurt.

“Stop moping.”

Sombra turned over in her bed, back on the coast of North Carolina, back in the presence of her teammates. Reaper happened to be in her room at this very moment, chastising Sombra for the fourth time in the past three weeks for not leaving her room. 

The morning after the botched job, Sombra was alone in her hotel. McCree was nowhere to be found; he didn’t even leave a note for her. 

She had made her return to the safehouse feeling _shame,_ something she hadn’t felt in a long time. When she walked in the house with a limp Reaper had questions for her. She had ignored him and went to her room and stayed there. 

“Sombra.” His voice was like a warning now, and though she had her head buried under her comforter she could tell he was standing over her bed. 

She didn’t answer. She didn’t care.

“Sombra, what happened?” 

She was silent. 

She felt a weight on her bed, and out of both confusion and curiosity she lifted her comforter up enough so she can see that Reaper, death incarnate himself, was sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes grew even wider when she saw him lift his hand as though he was going to put it on her shoulder, but then thought better of it and kept it at his side. 

Still… it was the thought that counted.

She took a breath, hiding her face from him so he wouldn’t see her expression.

“I went to Florida.”

“Yeah?”

“I got shot.”

“I see that. Why?” 

“I did something stupid and very unlike myself.”

“Right. What else?”

“My fascination turned into an obsession… and I ended up getting my feelings hurt over something I never should have been bothered with in the first place.”

“And you’re leg.”

“Yes Gabe, and my leg.”

Reaper was a smart man, and he had a very long memory. He had to know she’d sought out McCree and that things went badly, and she knew at this point he wasn’t really able to feel much except vengeance and hate. She was pretty sure the only reason why he was asking was to make sure she wasn’t “emotionally compromised” and could do the job she was assigned to do. 

Even with this knowledge, it still touched her a bit that he had taken the time to ask and pretend that he cared. 

“Did you betray us?”

There it was. That was Reaper. That was a question she had been expecting. 

“No. Nothing that dramatic.” Although from the way she was acting it felt like it _was_ that dramatic. He was still sitting there, and she knew he wasn’t going to go away until she gave him more to work with.

“Gabe… Say you have un perrito.”

His gaze turned to her, but while the mask covered his face she was sure his look was incredulous. She held up a finger, silently asking for him to bear with her for a moment. 

“You have this perrito, and he’s really… cute. He’s really cute and sorta like one of those search and rescue dogs. And you found him. And you want to keep him because you like spending time with him-”

_”Sombra.”_

It was a growl. Reaper was _not_ happy at all.

She poked her eyes out from under the covers, only to see empty black holes boring into her. He wasn’t just unhappy, he was _angry._ And even after the past few months of working with him she was still nervous when that ire was turned towards her. It was only made worse that he reached his hand out suddenly, his clawed glove gripping her jaw and forcing her to look at him. 

“I’ll advise you that Talon has a no dogs policy and if I _see_ your “puppy” then I’ll put him down myself.” he hissed. She knew her eyes were wide. She knew that she had to look scared. And maybe that’s why he paused for a moment. And maybe that was why he let her go and turned away from her. 

“Don’t be another disappointment, Sombra.”

He got up and left her room, her wide eyes still frightened and staring after him as he left, the door slamming behind him.

And for the first time in a very long time, in the darkness of a room in a house she couldn’t call home, she cried. 

 

“He recalled us almost a year ago, Jesse. Why now?”

It had been six months since he’d first met Sombra on the train, and about two months since the botched Lauderdale job, and Jesse McCree found himself on the Southern Coast of Spain, looking into the all too familiar eyes of Angela Ziegler. 

She hadn’t aged a day, and though he wouldn’t admit it, she sure was a sight for sore eyes. 

“I had a change of heart, doc.” it was all he could say, They both knew it was a lie, but she knew better than to probe too deep and risk scaring him off.

The truth was probably stupid. Who better to have tabs on Talon than what was once Overwatch? He was sure Winston had been busy; most likely following the news and scanning old emergency channels that Overwatch had managed to tap into. Once he’d learned that Gibraltar had been attacked then McCree figured all Winston would be doing was scouring for Talon.

He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t missed his old family. 

When little Tracer had practically knocked him out of his boots for a hug after not seeing him in almost eight years, he knew he was home. 

When Angela had tears in her eyes and a hand on his prosthetic arm and a look of defeat and responsibility on her face, he knew he was home. 

When Athena immediately recognized him and gave him a new comms unit, he finally felt home.   
And burdened. 

“Doc… I met a girl.”

This seemed to pique the woman’s interest, and she leaned forward on her elbows, all of her attention on him. He felt so much younger talking to Angela like this, like no time had past, and like he essentially didn’t lose one of his closest friends.

“She’s… she’s working for Talon, doc.”

If Angela was surprised, she didn’t show it. She always was a smart one, she had to figure he’d come back for _something_ other than pure philanthropism.

He didn’t know where to begin, so he started from the beginning. From the hypertrain to Houston, to almost getting his goose cooked by the Deadlock gang, and to Sombra getting shot, he told her everything. 

“How does she make you feel, Jesse? Why did you join back up just to find her?”

So shrewd, as always. 

“That’s the thing, Ang… I don’t rightly know. But I want to help get her out of Talon. She helped me, she ain’t all bad.” he said, gazing down at the cold coffee in front of him. 

“Do you expect her to desert them?” she asked.

He didn’t have an answer. He just knew that he wanted to give her the chance to get out. He knew she joined on her own free will, he knew it was for some sort of “truth” she was searching for… but he hoped (prayed at this point) that a new and revived Overwatch could help her find that truth _away from Talon._

“Well… we should get back to the watchpoint. It would appear that we have work to do.” Angela said, rising from her seat and walking down the street, waiting so he could catch up. 

It would appear they did.

 

**_One Month Later_**

Waiting for Talon chatter was teaching McCree a thing or two about patience. 

In the weeks following his return to Overwatch, he’d reconnected with a few former agents. Genji Shimada, in particular, was among the most that he’d been surprised to see again, and this time with a completely different personality. 

“You look good Genji… at least I think.” McCree said, watching as the ninja threw shuriken at the various targets in the shooting range. The ninja no longer had an aura surrounding him that warned of danger, but rather of peace, and he’d even given McCree a hug the first time he saw him. 

Genji pulled shuriken out of a target, reloading them into his cyborg arm. 

“Thank you, McCree. You look well.” 

He wondered if that was just Genji being polite, because McCree didn’t feel well. He’d spent his nights staying up late in the command room, watching the screens Athena kept up and running for any signs of her.

“Angela told me of your struggles. I am here for you if you wish to talk.”

McCree looked at Genji with surprise, but it only lasted a moment. Angela told Genji everything. The two were thick as thieves, even back in the Blackwatch days, no doubt thanks to the good doctor’s working in saving the man’s life. 

“I appreciate the gesture, Genji. I just… want to find her… I want to give her a chance at something other than Talon.” he said, caressing Peacekeeper’s grip gently. Genji was quiet, seeming to look at the target with intensity.

“Everyone has a choice McCree… Talon may be hers.”

“McCree!”

Before McCree could respond, Tracer was blinking into the arena, worry clear on her face. 

“McCree- Jesse, we think we found her!”

Did everyone know about Sombra? He’d talk to Angela later about keeping secrets, but that would be later. He wanted to know what they had found now. 

“What’d ya find?” he asked, taking off after the young Brit as she began to blink back towards the command center. It appeared that Genji seemed curious as well, because he was close behind. 

“Winston managed to find a comm-link that’s old Overwatch. It got refurbed into a Talon line, and they don’t know we’re there.” she said, bouncing down the hallway and into the command room where Winston was staring at a big screen of the old channel. 

Coordinates were scrolling up the page, and binary code was following. 

“I’m not understanding what I’m seeing.” McCree said, taking a quick glance at Genji who shook his own head. He felt a bit better that someone else didn’t speak computer either. 

“Talon is sending a strike team to Cairo. They’re trying to infiltrate one of the Egyptian Security Forces spec ops squadrons. They’re looking at targeting the plans for their Raptora suits.” Winston said, his eyes not leaving the screen. 

McCree’s eyes grew wide; last he heard, little Fareeha Amari was a commander in one of those squadrons and she _had_ a Raptora suit.

“What makes you think she’s gonna be there?” he asked, wracking his brain for any of Fareeha’s old contact info. This was bad. If Sombra was headed to Cairo for a Raptora suit, there was a damn good chance she was gonna run into Fareeha Amari, and the Amari’s were _not_ known for being pushovers. 

“They haven’t been able to remotely hack and get into the Egyptian system. It’s too complex of a security system. They need someone to hack it locally.” Winston replied. 

He had to get there, and he had to talk to Fareeha before things got deadly for either her _or_ Sombra.

“I’ll get ready to leave, and I need Fareeha’s number.” he said, turning on his heels to pack his gear. 

“I’m coming too!” Tracer said, blinking out of the room before he had time to argue.

“Me as well, McCree. I will inform Angela, she will want to accompany us.” Genji replied. 

McCree turned and looked at Winston, giving him an expecting look. 

“Well… Why not? Just like the old days.” the ape said, sheepishly looking back down at his keyboard. 

McCree gave a wry smile; just like the old days indeed.


	5. The Inside Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a break that leads the newly reformed Overwatch team to Egypt, McCree is reunited with an old friend who he has to call in a favor for. Armed with the same fighting spirit as her mother, Fareeha Amari needs some convincing before she even considers the possibility of not attacking a Talon intruder, but giving McCree the benefit of the doubt, she goes along with his plan.
> 
> Sombra is tasked with infiltrating the Egyptian Security Forces base with her team, and what seems to go off without a hitch only has a huge wrench thrown in it. Somehow, McCree knew she'd be there, and he was waiting for her. Now, instead of being armed with his revolver, he's armed with a question, and it's up to Sombra to accept.

McCree had always been grateful for his younger days on the ranch in the southwest of the United States. It made dealing with the heat of Cairo, Egypt almost bearable. At least, he was handling it a lot better than Lena “Tracer” Oxton at the moment. 

“You okay, Tracer?” he asked, hiding his grin by pulling his hat down low so the brim his his smile. 

They waited in the bustling city market, instructed to wait here by Fareeha. McCree smiled as he remembered her chastising tone on the holo; her voice and attitude so much like her mother’s it was almost scary. 

Lena was guzzling water, having just finished reapplying yet _another_ layer of sunscreen to her arms and cheeks. Despite this, she was still getting a bit sunburnt and he thought it was mighty amusing that the one thing Tracer couldn’t outrun was the damn sun. 

“It’s not funny, Jesse.” she said, a scowl on her face. 

“What’s not funny?” 

McCree and Tracer turned to the new voice, only to see a woman with a face entirely too familiar looking back at them. 

She looked like Ana Amari, but much younger than when McCree had seen her last. 

“Fareeha.” he said, a smile on his face as he held his hand out to her. The woman smiled, shaking it before pulling him in for a hug. 

Of all the people McCree had left behind when he left Overwatch, he still visited Fareeha from time to time. He couldn’t let his former teacher’s daughter feel all alone in this world. She gave him a firm squeeze before letting go and giving Tracer a hug as well. 

“Not going to lie, I had to pull a few favors to get to take off during a training exercise and get you access to base. I hope this is something exciting.” she said, motioning for the duo to follow. They approached a black car, Fareeha hopping in the driver’s seat and Tracer quickly blinking into shotgun. 

“It is… I just can’t promise you’ll like it much.” McCree said once he was buckled into the back.

He told her what was going on; how Talon was sending a hacker to get ahold of the Raptora suit schematics. She listened, only interrupting when he mentioned that he didn’t want the hacker getting hurt. 

_”What?”_ she asked, giving him a confused look in the rearview mirror. 

“There’s a chance the hacker is someone I know, and I’m trying to help her out.” he said, knowing how ridiculous it must have sounded to her. Fareeha had grown up to be so serious; the mission always came first, and her no-nonsense attitude had gained her respect as a security chief. This was almost against what made her… well, her.

“There’s a chance this “someone” you know is the hacker, making this “someone” a member of _Talon,_ Jesse.” she said. His cheeks burned. The last time he’d been scolded like this was by her own mother. 

“I know, I just… Look, if it’s not her then feel free to do whatever you want, but this lady _saved my life_ and I know she’s not all bad.”

He was flustered. He was tired of trying to explain this to everyone, but he was grateful Fareeha had taken that as a cue to not say anything more, but the furrow between her brows told him that she was at least _considering_ it, and that was more than he had a right to ask for. 

The rest of the drive to the base was silent, except for Tracer who made the occasional comment about the ruins. 

When they arrived they were greeted by members of Fareeha’s squadron, each of them wearing their Raptora suits. Each looked McCree and Tracer over with either curiosity or scrutinization, which was nothing that he didn’t expect from a highly trained unit. 

“These are my people. We do the jobs that are too hard for the regular grunts to do.” Fareeha said, pride on her face and in her voice. She kept walking with McCree and Tracer in tow, her people following behind. They stopped in security, both Tracer and McCree surrendering their weapons before being allowed deeper into the base. 

Fareeha scanned her hand on a sensor pad and a metal door slid open, showcasing what had to be the armory. 

Different Raptora suits were on display in individual stands, each labeled with no doubt the name of the soldier it was issued to. Fareeha stepped in front of what McCree assumed to be hers; a blue suit with gold accenting. Fitting, considering who it belonged to. 

“I warned higher-up that we need to expect a potential breach. They’re a bit skeptical; this is the best security system in the world. Even Vishkar hasn’t been able to get in yet.” Fareeha said, resting a hand on her suit. 

“This hacker is better than Vishkar. I promise ya that.” McCree mumbled. She shrugged, getting handed a datapad by one of the armorers. 

She looked it over, a frown settling on her face before looking back at McCree.

“What are the odds that your hacker making an appearance is going to line up with the security system maintenance in 72 hours that just got announced?” she asked, one eyebrow arched. 

“Well, Miss. Amari, I’d reckon those odds are pretty good.”

 

“Do you need a reminder of the plan?” 

Sombra rolled her eyes, causing the woman across from her to shoot a glare with her yellow gaze. 

“No. I got this, alright?”

It had been tense between Sombra, Reaper and Widowmaker, and Widowmaker was never her fan in the first place. She ran her mouth too much, always had something smart-assed to say, always seemed to deviate from the plan. Sombra found her ire hilarious, and milked it for all it was worth. 

Night was beginning to settle over the Giza Plateau, and with it a chill. Reaper had gone off hours ago to secure an entrance for Sombra in the base below, and the two Talon women had currently found themselves midway up the Great Pyramid itself. 

The plan was simple; Reaper secures a way in for Sombra who would use her cloaking device to find the Security Force armory and copy their weapons database, and Widowmaker would keep watch on the pyramid far above, shooting anything that looked like it would cause trouble. 

Which to Widowmaker, meant anything that moved. 

As expected, Reaper’s voice crackled over the comms units, letting the women know it was time. Widowmaker gave her one last glare before launching her grappling hook and zipping off towards the top of the pyramid, and Sombra began her descent to the base below. 

 

Reaper was waiting for her when she’d made her way down. The base was cleverly located beneath the Sphinx, and she made sure she threw her translocator far enough away in case she needed a quick escape. 

Reaper stood near the bodies of two guards, and she didn’t even need to ask him if they were dead or sleeping; she knew better than that. 

“Get in, get the plans, get out.” he growled over her shoulder as she worked on hacking the main doors in. She didn’t roll her eyes for once at him, she knew he’d been watching her ever since she’d returned from Florida. 

“Got it.” she mumbled, opening the doors up just enough for her lithe form and Reaper’s mist to slip through. 

He slid into the darkness, standing near the exit.

She was on her own now. 

She engaged her cloaking device, silently making her way down the halls of the base. She maneuvered her way around guards that were posted, managing to skirt her way easily by until she made it to the door she was after: the armory. 

Getting in was simple enough. This job was almost comically easy. 

She slipped inside, closing the door behind her and made her way towards one of the computers in the room. She slipped out of her cloaking to dance her fingers along the keyboard and begin the download process. 

Now it was just down to a wait. 

She pulled up one of the rolling chairs, leaning back to put her feet up. 

“You look mighty comfy, darlin’.”

She froze in place. 

Jesse McCree took a step out of the shadows, his gun holstered, his expression unreadable. He made his way towards her, pulling up a chair and straddling it backwards, resting his arms on the top. 

“How did you…?” she began, her eyes darting around the room, looking for anyone that he may have brought along. 

“It’s just you and me. My friends are buying us some time before your companions come to get ya.” 

A sudden burst of gunfire could be heard echoing through the base, coming from the direction of the entrance. She recognized Reaper’s shotguns, but the flurry of fire that came with it was from a separate pair of guns entirely. 

“You gonna kill me?” she asked, her hand instinctively gripping her minigun. He shook his head no, and while that gave her some relief, it also made her wary.

“You left me.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but rather the truth. 

He lit a cigar, taking a slow drag off of it before meeting her gaze. His expression was no longer unreadable; it was pained. 

“You sprang on me that you work for Talon, the organization that took away so much from me and my friends. You can’t rightly expect me to be peachy keen with that.” 

She knew he was right, but her pride was still hurt. He _left_ her without a goodbye, after she quite literally took a bullet for him. Her pride was hurt and she was still mad about it, and she was furious with herself for taking it so hard. 

“I want you to leave Talon, come with me.” 

Her eyes widened and her jaw went slack.

_”What?_ Have you taken one too many horse kicks to the head, vaquero? I can’t just abandon Talon.” she said, disbelief in her voice.

He was quiet for a moment before slowly reaching a hand out to rest on her arm. She could feel her face flush and her stomach seemed to flutter at his touch. This was different than the last time he’d touched her and she almost didn’t know what to do with it. 

“McCree… I can’t just up and abandon them. They’ll _know._ ” she whispered. He squeezed her arm, a sad look in his eye, and he reached in his pocket to pull out a scrap piece of paper. 

“Let me help, Sombra. Please.” 

He looked so sad, and it sounded like he was begging. This was killing her, or it was _going_ to kill her.   
She stared at his outstretched hand and the little piece of paper, and she could hear the gunfire getting louder as though it were moving closer. She was running out of time. She glanced at the computer, unsurprised to see “Download Failed” flashing in bright letters. They’d somehow known Talon would be here, and they had prepared accordingly.

She snatched the paper out of his hand, knowing she had blush on her cheeks and she stood. He followed her to the armory door, the gunfire echoing the next hall over. They were out of time. 

“I’m not some damsel that needs saving, vaquero.” she mumbled, staring at the paper in her hands. He didn’t say anything, but she felt his eyes on her hands. 

She knew that what she did next probably counted as a _very_ bad idea, but for a moment she allowed herself the freedom to not care. 

She turned to him, rising up on her toes and brushing her lips against his for just a brief moment. She pulled away before he could respond, and before he opened his mouth to stay anything, she was gone. 

On the Giza Plateau outside, Sombra ran towards the Great Pyramid. A drop ship was waiting there, and she knew that Reaper would somehow make his way out. She arrived at the rendezvous point, Widowmaker waiting with a scowl on her face, and after a few minutes longer Reaper appeared out of the night to board. 

“Did you get it?” he asked, his coat littered with bullet holes. 

“No. They knew we were there.” she said, her eyes trained on her fingers. 

She could feel the anger radiating off of him as the drop ship doors slammed shut behind him and the trio took off into the night. She said nothing during the entire trip, and she ignored the glare that Widowmaker had trained on her. 

When they finally landed in Oasis, she began to follow Reaper as he stormed off the shape. 

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t know they’d be there.” she said. 

He stopped in his tracks, the dawn just beginning to break over the Iraqi horizon, and it took him awhile before he was able to say anything. 

“Don’t be a disappointment, Sombra.”


	6. Soft Lights of the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited with long lost friends, Jesse McCree tries to find his place in the new Overwatch. Though through some self reflection, he realizes that he may have it bad for a certain Talon hacker that has a talent for taking salacious photos and leaving a man to question what he wants in this world. 
> 
> Against her better judgment, Sombra has accepted the fact that she feels _something_ for a certain vigilante cowboy that has definitely sided himself with her enemy. With all eyes on her within her own organization however, Sombra has to have a heart to heart with herself to determine exactly how unwise it would be to pursue the cowboy that keeps her up at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry for the very long time between updates. Long story short, depression, financial issues, work, and now me getting divorced has sorta gotten in the way of me doing the things that I enjoy, such as writing. This chapter is a little short, but I hope you bare with me while i get back into the swing of things. 
> 
> Much Love!  
> Spectre

“Stop sulking, Jesse.” 

When he thought back to Egypt, he felt like he’d gotten punched in the stomach. 

_”I’m not a damsel…”_

He _knew_ that. He never thought for one moment that she was a damsel, but Sombra was an ever evading mystery and now that mystery had practically kissed him and disappeared into the night. 

He wanted her back. 

He felt the solid grip of Fareeha Amari’s hand on his shoulder as he nursed his whiskey, not taking comfort in her words for once. He wanted to sulk; he felt he had every right to at this point, but Fareeha wasn’t likely to let him. 

“You’re going to give me grey hairs from worrying over you. Stop sulking.” she said, landing a light punch to his shoulder. Though the years had made Fareeha grow into quite the striking woman, she still bore semblance to that wild girl from a lifetime ago, and he was grateful she hadn’t changed. 

The watchpoint had a somber mood to it. Since their little team, with the addition of Fareeha, returned from Cairo the command center had been at work non-stop trying to track Talon activity. Genji had stayed behind in Egypt to collect information from the locals and was due back in a few days, and Fareeha had been granted an extended leave to collaborate with the newly reformed Overwatch, something she was over the moon with happiness at.

Fareeha had taken it upon herself to try and cheer McCree up, trying to act like his little sister, but it wasn’t working much. 

His mind was elsewhere, somewhere that a pretty little Talon woman with a bite to her words and trouble in her eyes was. Somewhere he could feel her lips against his for longer than a split second. 

He shook the thought from his head, knowing it was foolish to hang onto false hope like that. She was a criminal. Hell, _he_ was a criminal. He had no business asking that she put her neck on the line to run away from _Talon_ , who didn’t seem the type of folks that let people just walk away. 

So he stewed. He stewed for awhile. Days after Fareeha tried to cheer him up he found himself stewing in his room, rolling back and forth on the sheets as he thought about the purple eyed vixen that haunted his dreams. He stewed until he heard his phone vibrate, grumbling to himself as he dug it out of his pocket. He practically dropped it when he saw the message though.

_Unknown: Hola, vaquero!_

He hoped no one was playing some sort of cruel trick on him, or even worse, someone in Talon had found that number on her person and was trying to trick him. So what did he do?

He texted back, of course.

_JM: Hola. Mind proving it’s you real quick?_

_Unknown: Howso?_

_JM: Take a picture of yourself holding up a peace sign._

_Unknown: Alright, vaquero. Fair enough._

He waited a moment before his phone buzzed once more, and when he looked at it he couldn’t help but suck in a breath through his teeth. 

It was Sombra, alright. Sombra wearing only a bra with wet hair like she’d just gotten out of the shower. She held up her peace sign next to her face and a had a smile on her face that would bring a pause to the devil himself. Christ… she wasn’t playing fair. 

_JM: You couldn’t have put a shirt on?_

_Unknown: Would you have wanted me to?_

_”Touche.”_ he thought, casually saving the image to his phone. 

He stared at his phone, wanting to say a whole lot but not knowing how to start. So he started with the most blatantly obvious bit that he felt he had a right to ask of the woman. 

_JM: So about that kiss… I wasn’t imagining it, was I?_

Sombra didn’t respond right away, and as the minutes ticked by Jesse was sure he’d said something wrong and that she wasn’t planning on responding any time soon. Finally after what seemed like an eternity his phone went off again.

_Unknown: You weren’t imagining it. I kissed you._

Jesse let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and felt a wave of relief wash over him. Sombra was one of those individuals that had a silver tongue and could talk her way out of almost anything. So for her to at least acknowledge that… well, it was something. 

He wondered if this was what a kid experiencing puppy love for the first time felt like. It wasn’t to say that Jesse McCree had never been with anyone; he had. It was more that Jesse McCree had never been with someone that made him feel like _this._

_Unknown: Are you angry with me for kissing you?_

_JM: Not in the slightest._

_Unknown: So you liked it?_

_JM: Yeah._

Perhaps it was because she was a beautiful and dangerous woman. Back in the good old days he had been known to be attracted to beautiful and risky people. More often than not he found himself on honeypot jobs in both Blackwatch _and_ Deadlock, and he’d be a damned liar if he didn’t admit to enjoying them a little more than he should. 

But Sombra was different. Before, and with everyone else, he’d always been able to forget those crippling feelings that people in this life had no business having. Yet when he thought back to those soft lips just _brushing_ against his, he couldn’t help but feel those unfamiliar emotions well up in his gut and make him feel as though he’d been kicked by Genji. 

His phone buzzing once more broke him from his thoughts, and he looked down at the screen and couldn’t help but smile when he saw the text on the screen:

_Unknown: I’ll have to kiss you for real next time._

_JM: I’ll hold you to that._

***

To say things had been tense among Sombra and her cohorts would be an understatement. Widowmaker practically ignored Sombra’s existence more than normal, not even sparing a glare at the woman when she walked into a room. Dr. O’Deorain, a woman that somehow managed to get under Sombra’s thick skin had begun to turn her critical gaze onto the hacker, and Akande… well he treated her with outright suspicion. 

What surprised her the most, however, was Reaper treating her almost normally. 

He spoke to her in the same irritated tone, came to her with the same workload and requests to hack into various corporations and government severs. She was thankful in a way; Reaper’s opinion actually mattered to her, and she’d be a liar if she didn’t say that she’d admired the man he used to be. 

Yet Sombra was also suspicious. Reaper had no reason to trust her, and she had done more than enough to violate that trust. Even now she found herself in the privacy of her bedroom in her swanky Oasis apartment sending another picture of herself in just her bra and underwear looking “innocent” to a certain cowboy. 

_JM: You’re killing me._

_Unknown: You love it._

She smiled to herself before tossing her phone aside. Teasing the cowboy was fun, arguably more fun than she’d had in years. Yet even now she caught herself smiling despite knowing that if any of her colleagues found out, she could very well end up dead. 

Or worse, one of Moira’s experiments. 

Still, she couldn’t help herself. While harboring some sort of attraction to a fugitive vigilante cowboy wasn’t normal by any means, for her if felt like the most normal thing imaginable that she could ever have. She had feelings for someone, and they weren’t laced in ulterior motives. 

That had never happened for her before. 

Sure, objectively speaking Jesse McCree was definitely her enemy, and she was fairly confident that if he happened to show his face around Reaper there’d be the shootout of the century, yet despite that knowledge she was still finding herself attracted to him and wanting to see him again. 

Even if he wanted her to abandon Talon. 

Sombra laid back on her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest and staring up at her ceiling, bathed in soft purple LED lights that seemed to pulse back in forth like the tide rolling in and out on a beach. 

Leaving Talon had never occurred to her. Hell, _joining_ Talon had never really occurred to her until she’d caught word that the shadowy organization was looking for the hacking collective “Sombra” and even then she’d been somewhat unimpressed with the idea of joining them. But Overwatch was gone, and Talon was her next shot at her true goals and aspirations. 

Though a certain cowboy was somehow managing to distract her from those goals.  
She turned on her side, staring at the phone she’d been using to contact McCree with. She was playing a dangerous game here. She says the wrong thing or does the wrong thing, and both her and McCree end up in some lake with steel holding down their shoelaces. She should call it off. If she cared about the cowboy at all (and that itself was a thought to ponder), then she should cut off all ties to him and erase him from her life entirely. 

_Unknown: I want to see you again._

_JM: Tell me when and where._

_Unknown: I’ll come to you._

She was an idiot, but it seemed she couldn’t help herself. 

She turned back over, looking out the balcony door windows and seeing the faint glow of the city nights at light. Oasis was a city that never slept; it was too advanced for that. There was too much innovation to be had, too many discoveries to be made. Sombra should have felt like this was a paradise.

Instead she turned back over to face her phone and to scroll through the past messages she had sent a certain cowboy, feeling for once she didn’t have the luxury of thinking Oasis was necessarily safe anymore. 

_JM: I’ll hold you to that, darlin._

She set her phone down on the pillow next to her head and closed her eyes, her mind already swirling with thoughts of a certain vaquero with hazel eyes and a certain warmth about him that she seemed to crave.


End file.
